Dark Room 2: Fistfuls of Sand


He couldn’t face Heather – sometimes, he just couldn’t. He took off the helmet and shut his eyes. He remembered the last visit, two days ago. He created a summer, and gave her a white dress. Her eyes – her eyes haunted him.

“When will I wake up?”
“I don’t know, honey. I’m doing all I can.”
She sniffed, and swung her legs below the stone bench. “I don’t want to be here.”
His heart snapped – it snapped every time. “I know. I’ll get you back. Promise.”

He’d been driving home with her from such a park, two years ago. The truck came from nowhere – crushed the car – crushed her. But as head of neurology at ESU, he’d not give her up. He’d taken charge of her case. Her mind worked, and he had cloned her body – but each time, the new Little One just shriveled and died. Ten times now? Twelve? How many bodies had almost worked?

He looked at her face, asleep in the incubator. He’d get her back – he promised.

He walked out, and the door clicked shut on the lab.

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